ellie 🍸

⛧ Ellie ☄️ 21 ⛧ ☄️ U.S. ⛧ english and journalism graduate ☄️incoming law student ⛧ she/her/hers ☄️ loves lavender, lana del ray, books, writing and a million other things ⛧ fav p project: fantastic four☄️

all dividers on this page are by @saradika-graphics

ao3 ⛧ pintrest ⛧ twitter ⛧ spotify ⛧

Fics

I’ll find you in every cosmos (one shots included on masterlist)

Eyes upon me (in progress)

Purple Rain (in progress)

notes:

I do take requests for one shots. I will use my own discretion when it comes to what I will or will not write, but there aren't many things I won't write.

I do not have a posting schedule. I work full time and am starting law school soon so this is a side, passion project of mine. As of right now I try to update once a week.

March 1991. Joel. 

“I still can’t believe you’re using your prize money on me.”

After your successful story reading in February, you entered a few short story contests you or Joel found in the paper or the magazines his mom read. You had insisted you were just easing yourself out there, and you didn’t expect to win, even though Joel insisted up and down that you would win at least one of the contests you entered. 

The result? 

$1,000. 

One. Thousand. Fucking. Dollars. 

You won 7 out of the 10 you applied to, including the one with the biggest amount of prize money: $500. That, on top of the prizes from the other ones, meant you were now the richest person Joel knew. 

And rather than using that money to buy a fancy car or something, you were taking Joel on a weekend trip to Chappell Hill Lavender Farm in Brenham. The only conditions of the whole trip was that he had to drive because you were scared of driving over 1.5 hours because, in your words, you cave into a lot of stereotypes about women with your driving skills.

But Joel didn’t mind. Of course he didn’t mind. You were taking him on the coolest trip he had ever been on in his entire life. It also meant that he got to spend the weekend looking at you; the way your hair blew around slightly when the windows of his truck were down, when you stuck your head out the window and grinned, the way you tucked your knees up under your hoodies to get cozy in an inarguably uncomfortable truck seat. He loved how close your legs were to him so he could rest his hand on your thigh while you giddily talked about how excited you were to see the farm.

“You know lavender is my favorite color right?” 

He raised his eyebrows, one hand on your thigh, the other on top of the steering wheel. 

“I didn’t. How did I not know that? Isn’t that one of the unbroken rules that you’re supposed to know your partner's favorite color?”

You mocked offense.

“You didn’t know!? I know yours!” 

Joel grinned to himself, curious on where you were going to go with this. 

“Yeah? What is it?”

“Hmm…” you hummed as if trying to telepathically get it out of his head. “Blue.”

“Blue! So stereotypical.”

“Black.”

He shrugged.

“Eh. It’s up there. Maybe second favorite.”

“Orange?”

He fake gagged in your direction.

“Fuck no. I hate orange. It gives me a headache.”

You laughed loudly and rested your hand on top of his on your leg, giving his knuckles a gentle scratch.

“Baby, colors can’t give you a headache.” 

“Nope. Orange absolutely gives me a headache. I can’t even look at it without feeling nauseous.” 

True, by the way. He wasn’t being dramatic. He always had a unique reaction to colors and sounds growing up. Like light blue always sounded like a faint siren harmony in his head whenever he saw it, but orange sounded like angry sirens blaring in his ear over and over and over. It gave him a headache. 

“So your telling me this sunset makes you nauseous because it’s orange?” 

You pointed to the skyline you were driving toward. Had it gotten so late? Time flew so quickly when he was talking to you. He would pay money to sit and listen to you talk about your day for hours on end so long as he got to be in your presence.

“Nah, I mean like neon orange. The sky’s alright,” he paused, debating if he wanted to say the cheesy line that popped into his head. "I much prefer looking at you.”

He just knew that would make you blush and look away nervously, and that’s exactly why he said it. He liked making you flush. It was cute how shy you got. He used his thumb to stroke circles against your thigh, and when you finally turned to face him, his eyes lingered on the way the sunset caught in your hair before forcing his attention back to the empty highway.

Joel watched the heat crawl up your neck from his peripheral vision, spreading across your cheeks like watercolor. You ducked your head, suddenly fascinated by a loose thread on your hoodie, and Joel frowned slightly. This wasn’t you being nervous about the attention this time. It seemed like you actually didn’t believe him, that he preferred looking at you.

"Don't do that," he glanced between you and the road. "Don't hide from me."

"I'm not hiding," you grumbled slightly, but you were. You were hiding behind your hair, behind that shyness he loved and hated in equal measure.

He smiled slightly to himself. 

“Forest green.”

You looked up from your hair, your eyebrows furrowing in that way that made him want to kiss your forehead. 

"What?"

"My favorite color. It's forest green. Like a christmas tree.”

You paused, like your brain was trying to craft up what color a christmas tree was. Then you grinned. 

“I love that color. It’s very you. You remind me of the woods you know.” 

His face scrunched up a little while he tried to stifle a laugh. 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” 

“You know! Like an open expanse in the forest with a pretty patch of flowers and open sky above you.” 

He snorted. 

“You think I’m pretty?”

He was just teasing because the idea of a blue-collar man like himself being called pretty was evidently unheard of, but now that you said it, he wanted you to describe him like that for the rest of his life. You could call him whatever you wanted and he would thank you.

He expected you to laugh at him, to launch into another round of guessing games like most of the car ride had been, or maybe to point out more orange things in the sunset just to tease him. But instead, your hand drifted from your lap to his thigh.

His thigh. He spent most of the drive being the one to touch you and now you were changing everything.

His grip tightening on the steering wheel. 

"Baby?"

You didn't answer, which was very out of character for you. Even though you and him had been intimate several times since you had sex for the first time, intimacy was still very new for you. He was the one doing most of the leading when it came to anything sex, which he didn’t mind if it made you more comfortable.

Your fingers traced the seam of his jeans extremely lightly, and yet he felt your touch like lightning. Nothing about when you touched him was light to him. You could just graze your hands over his chest and he would be near finishing right there. 

He could feel you watching him instead of the road, studying his profile. There was something different in your expression, almost like uncertainty mixed with determination, like you were working up courage for something. 

Your hand trembled slightly against his leg, and Joel realized you were nervous for whatever you were about to do. This wasn't like you. You were made a 10 step plan before going to the grocery store. You were someone who didn't take risks, especially not sexual ones.

Your fingers crept higher, finding the outline of him through the denim, and you pressed just enough to make him start to swell against his will.

"What are you doing?" His voice cracked embarrassingly high, and his hips jerked slightly, seeking more friction despite his shock. "You're gonna get us killed."

You bit your lip, and Joel saw the anxiety flicker across your face: what if he doesn't like this, what if I'm doing it wrong? But then something shifted. Your shoulders squared like you were doubling down on what you were about to do. You pressed harder and Joel bit back a moan.

"There's no one out here," you said, and your voice wobbled slightly at first, then steadied into something almost bratty in a way he'd never heard before. "Just us."

Your hand moved to his zipper, and Joel's heart hammered against his ribs. You drew the zipper down slowly, tooth by tooth, making him wait for it. You never made him wait. He was already straining against his boxers, embarrassingly fast and ridiculously fucking eager. A whine escaped his throat and he gripped the wheel with both hands.

"Jesus," he whimpered, unable to stop himself. He flicked his eyes to you, then back to the road, then to you again to confirm that you were actually doing this. "Baby, please - "

"Please what?" You pulled his dick out and he gasped at the wind coming in from the rolled down window hitting his skin. When you looked up at him with blooming confidence, Joel realized that you weren’t doing this for no reason. No, you were enjoying this. Being in control.  

“Please what?”

"I don't - fuck - I don't know," he stammered.

You paused and lifted your hand away, tilting your head like a confused puppy. The loss of your touch felt like the worst physical pain of his life, which manifested into a pathetic noise in the back of his throat. You were still nervous, but you were pushing through it, discovering something about yourself that you hadn't known was there.

Then, you spat in your palm. Fuck, when had you learned to do that? You wrapped your hand around his cock, and Joel's vision went spotty. He shuddered, his hips bucking into your grip, the truck swerving slightly before he corrected it.

"Stay still," you said, and there was that bratty tone again with more confidence. "Unless you want to explain to a cop why you're swerving all over the road with your dick out."

"You're evil," he whined, but he was smiling, deliriously, his head falling back against the headrest. "You're fucking evil, you know that?"

You didn't answer. You just stroked him slowly, torturously, your thumb circling the head just like he taught you. And Joel…well, he was making noises he couldn't control - whimpers and whines and moans that filled his truck.

"Look at me," you said suddenly, and your voice had changed again—firmer, more certain. When Joel managed to drag his eyes open and look at you, you were watching him with dark, glittering eyes, your lower lip caught between your teeth. "Keep your eyes on the road, Joel."

"But I want to see you.”

"Eyes on the road," you repeated sternly, but you were smiling. "Or I'll stop."

"No - fuck - okay, okay," he gasped, dragging his eyes back to the highway, but he wasn’t really looking.

You leaned over the center console, your hair falling forward over your eyes, and Joel felt your breath hot against him before you even touched him with your mouth. After you asked him, he talked you through how to take him in your mouth, but you had been so anxious that you weren’t much good at it and that you were hurting him. Of course you never did, but you had gotten into your own head.

He cried out (only slightly mortified) when you finally took him in, and his hand flew to your hair, not pushing, just holding on.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," he chanted like that was going to stop you, and the truck swerved again, the tires hitting the rumble strip with a violent brrrr before he yanked it back to center. "Good girl…just like I taught you…"

You hummed around him (he did not teach you that), and the vibration made Joel see stars. His head spun, his hips jerking helplessly, seeking more of your lips. You pulled back slightly, just enough to swirl your tongue around the tip, and Joel made a sound that was embarrassingly close to a sob.

"So noisy," you murmured against his skin, and Joel could hear the grin in your voice, could feel how much you were enjoying this new power you had over him. "I never knew you were such a whiner, Joel Miller. I like it. Maybe I’m not too bad at this after all."

"Only - only for you," he gasped out. "Fuck, baby, please - "

You giggled with delight and took him deeper, hollowing your cheeks, and Joel's vision whited out at the edges. He was going to crash the truck, but it meant he was going to die happy and with you. 

"You're doing so good," you said, pulling back just enough to speak, your hand still working him. "Keeping us on the road like that. Such a good boy."

Joel whined at the name. 

"I'm not - I'm not a boy - "

"No?" You raised an eyebrow, your thumb pressing against the sensitive spot just below the head, making him jerk and gasp. "Could've fooled me. Whining and whimpering like this. Begging me. You're practically mewling, Joel."

"Fuck you," he exhaled, but he was laughing with pure bliss. 

"You said you would later. Right now, I want you to focus. Eyes on the road. Hands on the wheel. And you don't get to come until I say."

"Yes," he groaned and smacked his hand on the console to fight back coming in your mouth. "Okay! Fuck!”

You took him back into your mouth, and he thought he might actually die from how much he loved you.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Wednesday, September 2003. Joel.

If you asked Joel 5 years ago if he would ever be giving you a tour of his work trailer, he would laugh in your face and bet you a million dollars that that would never happen. 

“So….this is where I work.”

Unfortunately, circumstances have changed. 

He stood in the corner with his arms behind his back like an anxious kid showing their parent their school project. His trailer interior really wasn’t anything to be super proud of. It was the end goal for him to be able to afford one let alone pull some interior design shit out of his ass. 

And yet, you looked around at it like it was Buckingham Palace. 

“Joel!” you gasped and took a step forward toward the three shelves he had installed on the wall. “This is so cool!”

He raised an eyebrow. Maybe your migraines were getting to you, or you were just trying to be nice now that you agreed to tutor Sarah after school. 

“It ain’t that cool,” he scratched the back of his neck. “Just a desk and some shelves. Got a couple a’ plants.”

Good one. Plants. Seems like you did a lot with your life Joel. 

You traced your fingers over some of the photos he set up on the shelves - it wasn't like he had a degree to show on it. But, he would rather look up and see Sarah than a stupid piece of paper anyway. 

“You forget that I watched you start this company from scratch. God, the idea of 22 year old you having your own trailer -” she paused and one of the photos. “Is this Sarah’s mom?” 

He wasn’t sure if you were aware of your wording, but he certainly was. She didn’t call Isla his ex or his wife or just her like Tommy sometimes did. To you, she was Sarah’s mom, because like you promised him, you were putting his daughter first. Everything you were seeing was through the lens of understanding his daughter, not whatever had happened to him in the last decade. 

“Um, yeah. Yes,” he realized he was staring for too long and took a step forward toward you. “Isla.” 

You looked at the photo and then back at Joel. 

“She’s really pretty. She looks a lot like Sarah.” 

Joel feigned a gasp and pretended to stab himself in the heart, stumbling over to his office chair. Well…maybe not feigning it. He hated when he thought about how much the only good thing in his life looked like the worst thing in his life. 

“That’s like, a cardinal sin to say to a parent.”

Your eyes widened like you actually felt guilty. 

“It is? Everyone used to say I look like my mom and she ate it up.”

“I guess it’s not something you understand until you have a kid, but like…a certain selfish part of me wants her to be a visible piece of me. So I can see myself in her. Probably doesn’t help that her mom ain’t in the picture anymore, so sometimes looking at her just makes me see…”

He cut himself off and cleared his throat when he realized he was oversharing again, chatting about his problems like the old days. 

You clearly got the hint, because you didn’t push on what he was thinking. 

“What’d she do for work?”

“She worked in a bakery,” he tried to say as nonchalantly as he could while pretending to sift through paperwork. “Really wanted to open up her own shop at some point.”

“Why didn’t she?” you put the photo down and started walking toward a pile of papers at the corner of the trailer. 

He shrugged. It was such a privileged way of thinking for you to just say, ‘well why not just open a super expensive super time consuming bakery!’

“Same reason it took me so long to get Miller Construction to where it is. Money, mostly. Making sure you have enough money to afford the liscensing and downpayments on the building you’re renting out and ingredients. And not only having enough to afford it, but having enough that you can maintain it and your own lifestyle.” 

Your lower lip jutted out slightly. It was a little quirk of yours that your lip subconsciously went out when you were displeased with something. When you were together, he’d always tease you that you made that face to get what you wanted from him and your parents. Afterall, it did sort of resemble the way Sarah would look at him when she was begging him for dessert and getting frustrated because he was saying no. 

She would always ask before she actually ate her dinner. He wasn’t a monster. Joel Miller never denied his daughter ice cream after dinner. 

“What?” 

Your pout immediately revereted back into a traditional look of confusion, and Joel couldn’t fight his smile. 

“You were pouting.” 

Your face scrunched up.

“I am 29 years old. I don’t pout.”

“You’ve done it ever since I’ve known you. You always pout when you’re sad ‘bout something.” 

You opened your mouth to defend yourself, but then snapped it shut. You knew he knew you better than anyone else - if he said you pouted, you pouted.

“Just sad that money stops people from doing what they want. I know you’re going to say that’s such a superficial thought or that I’m privileged or whatever, I just…I think about that a lot. The cycle of wealth amongst the rich, meanwhile people dedicated to their craft are struggling to do it for a living because they can’t pay for groceries.” 

Joel leaned back in his chair with a creak and held up two hands.

“I’m with ya’ babe. Preaching to the choir. You know what it took me to get this company going and we’re still struggling most days.” 

It was impossible to miss the way your hands jerked hard at one of the old pet names he had for you. You tried to smoothly lock your hands behind your back, but it was pointless for Joel’s eye, which was predisposed to always look at you.

“Well I mean…constructing wasn’t your dream. I was talking about people's dreams.”

Joel stared at you while you tried to steady your hands behind your back, his lips slightly parted. He wasn’t going to draw attention to your hands - he knew first hand that random people calling out the way his jaw is slightly misaligned did literally nothing to change the fact that he had a foreign metal in his body. Or when someone asked, “Are you in pain?” 

The answer was always yes. And then what? What can this person do to heal your chronic pain? You’re the only one who knows your body well enough to ease the light triggers and flare ups. 

“The hell do you mean constructing wasn’t what I wanted to do? You were literally the one who helped me set Miller Construction up. You saw how much I enjoy what I do.” 

You stared at him like he was a comedian, your lips rolled in like your were trying to stifle a laugh. He always thought it was cute when you tried not to laugh - your cheeks would get all pink, and sometimes if you held it in long enough, you’d snort.

“What’s so funny?”

You exhaled hard and - god damn it, you did the snort. He hated how much he missed that fucking sound. 

“You don’t remember showing me your drawings?”

Oh. 

Oh.

Oh.

You were referring to when you gave him the best head of his life. One of the greatest orgasms he had ever had, and yes, it was so good that he made a tier list in his head just to put that specific orgasm on top. 

He had sex a few times since you, obviously with Isla the most and then a couple of brief hookups after the divorce. But he was keenly aware that none of the sex he had in the last 7 years was even cracking the top 10 of orgasms he had with you (and gave you).

“I don’t,” he lied through his teeth. 

As good as…that was, he didn’t want you to know that he never stopped thinking about the way you had him moaning and verbally praying to god for you to never stop. 

You grinned at him, obviously seeing through his lie like a fucking human lie detector.

“Oh? Are you sure you don’t remember?”

He flushed a warm red and pretended to wipe some sweat off his forehead.

“I don’t.”

“You don’t remember when sucked you off in that car of our way to - ”

“-Fine! I remember.”

“ - And you were so loud too, you were like,” you mocked his whining sound and Joel scowled, crossing his arms. 

He let you have your laugh before rolling his eyes at you.

“I remember now thanks to your generous acting,” you dramatically bowed in front of him. “Please enlighten me on how that showed you my true passion.” 

You ran a hand through your hair.

“Remember I laid the seat back and saw your drawings on the back floor? Your building designs. And I showed them to you and you were so embarrassed and you were like, ‘Ew babe don’t look at them.’”

The annoyance on his face softened instantly. You were the only person in the world who saw his drawings. Not Bill, not Frank, not his parents, or Tommy. You. 

After he started working at the original construction company as a teenager, he had started mindlessly doodling some houses and buildings, usually based off the home he was doing construction on, but amped up by 100. It was such a mindless sketch that when he looked down at the designs, even he was shocked at what his brain came up with when he turned it off and let himself feel. 

You saw something in his designs the same way he saw something in your writing. He just didn’t have the resources to make any of those dreams come to life. You had parents with money and connections, and the ability to take writing courses on the weekends. You could afford to go to school, and well…by the time he even considered doing something in architecture, he learned that school wasn’t for him. 

“Yeah,” he scratched the back of his neck. “Guess I do remember that. But that wasn’t my dream or nothin’. Same thing with music. I loved music, but did I dream of doing it for the rest of my life? No.”

You shrugged and crouched down in front of the papers in the corner. 

“I dunno. This always felt different than music for you. Music was a hobby. Deep down you always loved building. Creating. Finding ways to fix things for people who didn’t have the resources to fix it themselves. That was the mantra that circled you for as long as I knew you at least.”

He looked at his desk and at the blue prints for the old folks home. Today was their last day on site and then it was on to the big, 6 million motherfucking dollars project. 

“Maybe. But I mean, you ain’t one to talk babe. You aren’t writing anymore.” 

You whipped your head at him from the corner of the trailer. 

“What?” 

You didn’t look at him with anger, but rather, complete sadness. Like writing was from a past life, and this was a new one. 

“I don’t mean it badly,” Joel held up at defensive hand. “I just mean that your dream was to be a writer and now you aren’t writing. But being a teacher is very valuable too. Clearly you’re good at it.”

You always had the biggest eyes. And not in a popped out, Tim Burton character way. But they were so full. Some people carry their souls in their hearts or their brains, but you carried your soul in your eyes. 

“The difference between you and me Joel Miller.” you said quietly, “Is that I stopped doing what I love because I physically can’t. You never did what you truly loved because you’re a pussy.” 

His eyes widened. He never heard the word pussy be said so sadly. 

“Do you think I just gave up writing? Do you think my life long dream came true and I just fucking gave up because I got into a car accident?” you laughed weakly, “Honestly it would have made more sense if I doubled down on my writing. They say trauma makes the best content. But, no. No, I learned very quickly that the tremors in my hands become more severe at any sort of focused hand movement. Trying to pour milk in a glass? My hand shakes from the weight of the jug and the focus of trying to narrow my aim into one spot and it spills everywhere. Trying to braid my hair like I used to? My fingers can’t make fine movements like that anymore without shaking so hard I pull out chunks of my hair. And typing? My fingers can’t move quickly over the keys anymore because my brain and my fingers don’t connect the same way. Just the mere act of trying to get my finger to type ‘B’ makes my tremors so bad I end up clicking several other letters in the process and it’s just a big fucking mess.” 

Your voice grew more and more shaky as you continued, and Joel grew guiltier and guiltier. He was angry that you were naive about his own injuries, but he didn’t even think about the side effects of having tremors. Hell, he thought the tremors were the side effect. He didn’t realize that they flared up doing certain things, but how was he supposed to know that? 

If he asked. That’s how he should have known.

He swore he heard a faint sniffle before you continued. 

“I went down the teaching path because it was the closest job I could get to books and reading and writing that wasn’t any sort of…well, writing. So, Joel, I did try. Did you?” 

“I-”

The door to the trailer flung open and Tommy stepped inside with two iced coffees in hand. 

“Hey, I heard Ma has Sarah tonight-”

He froze so abruptly Joel thought he was going to drop both coffees on the ground. He didn’t say anything, just stared at the ghost in the trailer. Your eyes jumped to Joel, wide with panic: did you tell him!?

And no. He hadn’t. For the same reason he never told his parents that you were back and Sarah’s teacher. Except for Tommy it hurt in a different way - he adored you growing up. Joel saw it in the way he begged for you to come over so he could show you his new game or how his face lit up when Joel told him you were coming for dinner. He would always interrupt your time with Joel because he liked talking to someone who listened and absorbed every word he said.

He saw it in how crushed his brother was when you left. When your family ruined theirs. God, he cried nearly as much as Joel did. 

“Am I in hell?” 

Joel’s eyes squeezed shut and his lips pursed together. 

Yeah…this was going to go poorly. 

You sat up from where you were crouched, looking at papers, and held your hands behind your back. He was starting to learn that that particular stance meant that you were trying to control your hands. 

“Tommy-” you started, but he cut you off. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Your eyes darted between Tommy and Joel with raised eyebrows that were screaming: HELP ME.

And part of Joel didn’t want to help you. He wanted your ignorance to receive the wrath of someone else so it could really cement in your head that it wasn’t just Joel making up some shit about you because he hated you. This was truly who you were. 

But, the more diplomatic side of his brain won. For Sarah. Hell, that could have become his new battle cry. For Sarah! For freedom!

“Tommy, I can explain.” 

His younger brother gaped at him, equally shocked that Joel hadn’t kicked you to the curb yet. 

“Yeah…” he scoffed. “An explanation would be nice. Because I’m thinking all of that metal in your face is leaking into your brain and fucking up the way you think.” 

“She’s Sarah’s teacher Tom. That day that she was having the panic attack under the table and they said that her hot-shot teacher could help her?” Joel nudged his shoulder toward you. “She’s the hot-shot.” 

Tommy stared at his brother, just blinking like his brain was completely wiped of all emotion and memory. Then, he lowered the two coffees onto Joel’s desk and turned to face you very, very slowly, his hands cupped in front of him like a parent giving a lecture. 

“You’re a teacher.” 

You raised an eyebrow - there was no question in that statement.

“I…um. Yes. I am.” 

“Mhm,” he inhaled. “And why are you a teacher here? I thought you fucked off north because of your ‘trauma’ or whatever.” 

Your face fell and Joel knew it was from how mean his words were. You had told him once that you saw Tommy has a younger brother. You loved your own brother more than life, but he was so much older than you that you never had that sibling connection - more like best friends. With Tommy, you said that he actually felt like your brother. That you finally understood how protective your own brother was now that you knew Tommy.

“Tommy, that's not fair and you know it.”

“No, I think I’m being really generous right now,” he stepped closer and you took a step back. “You ran off after you woke up from your coma after slandering my brother's name throughout your entire recovery, telling your family and friends how every single part of that crash was his fault. You told everyone how he was horrible to you and he ruined your little book signing, and everyone just believed you because you were the sob story who was unconscious for a few weeks! You got to run off and left my brother to pick up everything you destroyed.” 

“I-”

“You know he couldn’t leave the house for his physical therapy without someone screaming at him on the streets? Being called a murder?” He laughed sarcastically. “I bet he didn’t tell you about the guys that jumped him-” 

Joel instantly jolted to his feet. 

“Tommy no.”

“-some guys heard some spun up rumor from a friend that Joel was abusive. And that he crashed the car to try and kill himself and you because you were trying to leave him. And how else would your friend have heard this if not from you?” 

An audible gasp left your mouth and your hand slapped over it. He hadn’t told you, nor was he planning on it. He got beat up by a group of guys he probably would have been able to take on if he wasn’t recovering from jaw surgery, a concussion, and some broken ribs. 

What may have felt worse than the physical pain of being jumped, was the emotional. Because Joel didn’t feel anything. That scared him the most. Not only had he lost agency of his own body, but he had gotten word that he was legally not allowed to see you. Ever again. He cared, at the time, far more about losing you than getting beaten up by a bunch of pricks. 

But hearing Tommy put it all into words sent an unfamiliar wave of anger through him. It was as if his anger wasn’t justified if it came from within and he needed reassurance from someone else that it was okay to feel. 

Tommy was right. Why did that rumor start? It wasn’t like those boys heard it from the friend of a friend of an aunt. They heard it from your best friend. Hell, Joel had even met her! Martha, that was it. She hung out with you and Joel all the time and she never had a problem.

Despite how horrified you looked, Tommy wasn't backing down. He took another step toward you, pointing a finger so close to your nose, Joel thought he was going to accidentally lay his hands on you.

"You let everyone believe he was a monster while you got everything handed to you on a silver platter," his voice cracked with emotion.  "Your family took everything from us. They sued my parents into the dirt. They sued Joel until he had to sell his old truck just to pay his lawyer, all while he was sitting on our couch with his jaw wired shut, drinking his meals through a fucking straw. And now what? You just waltz back into town, acting like you can just fix his daughter and everything’s fine? You think a few reading lessons undoes what you did to us? You ruin everything you touch."

You were physically pinned between Tommy and the wall, and emotionally pinned too. He could tell you had no defense, or at least, you had no energy to defend yourself. 

That meant you were about to bite back. That’s what you always did. When you felt cornered or had no defense for your behavior, you got mean. You had described it to him years ago like a blinding rage that consumed you until an hour later when it truly hit you how awful all of the words you said were. 

Joel watched the shift happen in real-time. The trembling in your hands stopped, not because the nerve damage had magically healed, but because you had locked every muscle in your body so tight you were practically vibrating. Your eyes turned to slits as your brain calculated every soft spot you knew about Joel and Tommy and how to use it against them. 

"Are you done, Tommy?” you sneered. “Are you finished throwing your little temper tantrum?"

Tommys own angers faded with a few blinks.

"Because if we're handing out blame for that night," you continued, taking a step right into his space, forcing him to step  back, "let’s talk about how your brother wouldn't stop screaming at me while I was trying to keep two tons of metal on a slick, rain-soaked highway. Let’s talk about how he couldn't wait 5 fucking minutes until I pulled over to pick a fight, grabbing at my arms and yanking on the wheel while I was behind the wheel! Because he was drunk, again!"

"Don't," Joel grunted, his own temper flaring up. "We agreed to be civil - "

"Shut up, Joel!" you snapped, whipping your head toward him with a look so mean it could have drawn blood. "Don't you dare talk to me about being civil when you sit there like a coward and let your brother lecture me about things I had no control over! You think I wanted my parents to sue you? You think I was sitting in a coma orchestrating a smear campaign against you?! I woke up with my brain bleeding and my hands ruined, and when I asked where you were, my mother told me you hadn't come to the hospital once!

You want to talk about ruined lives, Tommy? Look at me!" You thrust your hands out in front of his face, letting them shake. "I can't write. I can't hold a mug without spilling it all over myself. I wake up every single day with my head feeling like it's split open on the pavement! So don't you everstand there and act like your family holds the fucking patent on suffering. Joel got jumped in an alley? Boo-fucking-hoo, Tommy! I lost my entire future!"

Tommy’s mouth was slightly open, completely stunned by your outburst - granted, he didn’t know about your tremors. He knew you were in a coma, but you ran off to Boston before anyone could see the side effects of what happened to you. Not that anyone could actually “see” you. Joel and his family would have been criminally charged for violating the restraining order if they did.  

You grabbed your bag, shoving the strap over your shoulder. You marched right past Tommy, stopping with your hand on the trailer door handle. You slammed your palm against the frame, turning back to glare directly at Joel.

"I'll be over at your house after work to tutor Sarah. Because unlike the rest of you, I actually give a shit about that little girl's future."

You yanked the door open and slammed it behind you so hard the entire trailer shook. It was pretty cheap. If an earthquake ever hit Dallas the trailer may as well split in two.

Tommy’s eyes were wide with disbelief.

"What in the good fuck does she mean, Joel?!" Tommy yelled, his hands flying into the air, nearly knocking over the iced coffees sitting on the desk. "What does she mean 'tutor Sarah'?! Are you out of your goddamn mind?!"

"Tom, just calm down - "

"Calm down?! Calm down?! She was just in here screaming at us, telling you she hates your guts, and you're letting her around your daughter?! My niece!? Are you fucking brain-dead, Joel? After everything her family did to us…after everything she just said to you?!"

Joel hated that he was torn between trying to defend you and your agreement with him while also not betraying his family. He was the one who caused all of this, really. If he had just…

If he had just what? 

Broken up with you? Left you? Those were options that were unfathomable to him. At the time, he would have rather died than never see your face again. No one could have successfully gotten him away from you because he would always find his way back to you, even if you were in god damn space. 

And yet he had a lingering guilt pooling in his stomach that he was even fraternizing with you. Making eye contact with you. Breathing the same air as you. And it wasn’t just because of everything you did to him. He had to listen to his mom cry every night for years over the lawyer bills and all of her town friends turning against her from being the mom of a piece of shit. He had to watch his dad be sent to the hospital with numerous injuries from work since he was taking on more hours without his age to help him. He had to watch his younger brother lose his teenage years to help support Joel’s business, and become angry with the world, constantly lashing out. Afterall, no one asked 14 year old Tommy how he was doing anymore. It was all fussing over Joel and his injuries and his alcoholism, or talking about the bills, or talking about their uncle giving them some money to pay for groceries. 

"I made a deal with her, alright?!" Joel shouted back, slamming both palms down onto his desk so hard the paperwork scattered slightly. "She's tutoring Sarah with her reading!"

"You made a deal with her?!" Tommy laughed like that was the most unbelievable thing he ever heard. "Have you lost your fucking mind?! She's toxic, Joel! She's poison! She just stood in your trailer, made fun of you getting jumped, blamed you for distracting her during the crash, and you're letting her play big sister to Sarah?!"

"She's the only one who can help her, Tommy!" Joel barked out."Sarah could  barely read a word without crying and after one class with her, she told me she understood the words. I don't give a single fuck about her  mouth or how much she hates me…I care about my daughter!"

Tommy dragged both hands down his face, letting out a groan.

 "This is a disaster. This is a complete and total fucking trainwreck, Joel. She's going to mess with your head, she's going to mess with Sarah, and then her parents are going to find out you’re involved with her again and ruin whatever's left of us."

"They ain't gonna find out, and they ain't gonna ruin shit," He reached out and tapped the blueprints spread across his desk. "Listen to me, Tommy. Look at me."

Tommy reluctantly pulled his hands away from his face, glaring at his brother. 

"What?"

"I got a call last night from the city planning board. They want us in on a big restoration project, something about redoing a historical site into a public library. And the budget…brace yourself man. 6 million motherfucking dollars. If we get this, we're set. We can hire a full crew, buy our own heavy equipment, pay off the debt... and I can finally afford to take Sarah to a real private dyslexia specialist."

Tommy stared at him, the tension in his shoulders dropping just an inch, his brain trying to bridge the massive gap between a career-changing fortune and the utter nightmare that had just stormed out the door. 

"That's... Jesus, Joel, that's incredible," Tommy muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. But then his eyes flicked right back to the closed trailer door and he frowned again. "But I'm still mad as hell at you. If she hurts Sarah, Joel, or if she pulls some bitter stunt that risks that contract, I swear to God, I'm throwing her off this property myself."

Joel barked out a laugh and picked up one of the iced coffees. 

“Not if I do it myself first.”

ongoing

Wednesday, September 2003.

Listen.

Listen.

You didn’t mean to get wasted and show up at Joels trailer. Do you really mean to do anything when you drink? You didn’t go into that bar with the intention of becoming inebriated and going to Joels. You went into that bar because you didn’t want to go home in tears again. You wanted to let your anger out at your stupid fucking cunt employer in a healthier way.

At least she had the courtesy not to do it before the school day started so you wouldn’t go through the entire work day in a complete rage that affected your job performance.

You had just finished organizing some of the reading binders for tomorrow when Karens unmistakeable figure appeared in the doorway.

“Let’s have a little chat in my office,” she didn’t even greet you, her voice devoid of that overly sarcastic happiness she put on. Something was wrong. Again. Hell, she was so rigid that her bracelets weren’t even clacking on her arm.

After yesterday, you just were not in the mood to deal with anymore bullshit. You did exactly what you told your brother. You started to implement some different methods from Sarah that you knew had been shown to help children with dyslexia. Just by the sheer grin on her face during the whole lesson, you knew that you were doing the right thing. You hadn’t seen her smile this widely once, not even when you were letting the kids do some free coloring, which she seeed to enjoy too. No, this joy that she was experiencing came from finally understanding. Like when you spend your whole life only seeing blurriness, and you think it’s normal until you start wearing glasses.

Karen didn’t sit at her desk after shutting the door behind her. She just leaned against it, arms crossed.

“Who do you think you are?”

Your lips parted, but your throat suddenly felt dry. You had no idea what she was talking about.

“I’m going to keep this brief, because honestly, I’m so aggravated with you I don’t even want to look at you in my building right now.”

“I don’t understand - “

She held her hand up.

“Shut up. Honestly, just shut up. Don't you dare play dumb with me,” she scoffed. “You came down here from Boston with your fancy little awards, your high-and-mighty attitude, and your tragic little brain condition, and you honestly thought you could treat this district like your personal playground?”

You were rarely so gobsmacked that you were unable to defend yourself. Actually, you were quite good at snapping back quickly and not stuttering. But hearing your boss say “tragic little brain condition?”

That was new.

“I got a phone call first thing this morning from Joel Miller.”

There it is.

"He told me everything. He told me how you cornered him before back-to-school night even began. How you dragged him into a school supply closet and screamed at him like a unhinged lunatic. I know you’ve been gone, but do you realize that he is a respected business owner in this city? He is a hard-working father trying to raise a daughter completely by himself, and you are using your position as an educator to terrorize his family because you can't cope with a car wreck. Lets face it yeah? People get in car crashes every day. You aren’t special."

"That's not…that's not what happened," you choked out. "He was - I was trying to tell him about Sarah’s panic attack -"

"I don't give a damn about your excuses," Karen leaned in so close you could see the tiny veins in her nose. The botox really was not helping her this close. "You are acing like a bitter girl who is letting her personal vendettas infect a 1st grade classroom. You think you can just slap a label like 'dyslexia' on a child just to get back at the man who broke your heart? It is disgusting.

She sighed and rolled her head, her neck crackling in the process.

“I am warning you right now. You breathe in Sarah Miller's direction the wrong way, you look at Joel with anything less than perfect, submissive professionalism, or you drop one more of your little psychological theories on that family, and I will personally see to it that you are blacklisted from every school board in the state of Texas. You are on thin ice. Now get the hell out of my sight."

You didn't say a word to defend yourself. You couldn't. You were drowining in your own humiliation and the burning sensation in your face was almost painful.

You grabbed your tote bag off the chair, your fingers shaking so badly you almost dropped it, and practically threw your weight against the office door to escape. You sprinted through the hallway. There was an irony in the colorful art on the walls making you feel like you were suffocating.

You didn't even make it to the sidewalk. You collapsed against the brick wall of the school building, your knees buckling as you slid down to the concrete, and burst into tears. The shaking in your hands spread to your whole body as you buried your face in your hands, trying to hide the sound of your crying - as if it wasn’t obvious why a 29 year old woman was sitting in a parking lot.

He called her.

Joel had actually called her. He stood there and watched you be vulnerable with him (after you said some not so kind things first…), he watched you be honest about your conditions and your desire to help his daughter who is clearly struggling and his first thought was to try and ruin your livelihood. He was such scum that he wanted you broke, jobless, and humiliated in the city where you grew up. Again.

You were an unconditionally angry woman. It wasn’t something you could hide from other people, clearly, because your mother loved to remind you of it at every waking moment. Said that’s why you never dated after Joel, because “boys don’t like girls who are angry about everything.”

You never had the energy to explain to her that that wasn’t why you weren’t dating. And either way, you didn’t want to hide that about yourself. God forbid you still felt something! Everyone was so neutral and bland lately that you would take being angry over being emotionally gray any day.

You felt the anger building up in you again. Every time you thought of him, you smelled burning rubber and a loud shriek tore through your ears. You knew no one else could hear it, but that didn’t make it any less real to you. Any less loud. And as you pressed your palms flat against your eyes, weeping into the afternoon, you realized you didn't just hate him.

You wished the car had rolled a dozen more times. You wished the steering wheel had crushed him. You wished, with every single vengeful fiber of your soul, that Joel Miller was fucking dead.

You also wished you had a drink.

You swallowed back your next batch of tears and stood up, dusting your skirt off to no reward, because you were covered in endless pavement dust. The only bar you thought you could get yourself to was O’Malley’s, the pub that all of the college kids went to. It was kind of a rite of passage for the Dallas youth. Go to O’Malley’s and you are christened as an adult.

Joel never wanted you to go there. Even when you turned 21, he kept saying that it was skeevy and he didn’t want any weird guys touching up on you. Well look how far that mindset got him. Almost a month later, you were assaulted at a Halloween Party.

One of your last attempts at salvaging your relationship with Joel was inviting him to your friends Halloween party. You adored Halloween and for the past years while you and Joel were dating. He always let you dress him up in a cheesy couples costume, for one, but you also just historically had a good time. A lot of the Saint Patricks parties you ended up puking on your dorm floor, and the Christmas party, one of your friends would get too drunk and then the other girls would get mad at her and there was stupid fucking drama.

But Halloween? That was your holiday.

Joel had been making less and less trips to your school by then, even though he was the one who wanted you to go there so he could visit you more often. And you hoped by inviting him, maybe he could see why the two of you fell in love in the first place. Remind him that the world could be fun with the two of you in each others lives.

…

It was not fun.

The first warning that you should have cancelled the whole night was that he refused to do the costume. Which, fine, you can’t make someone where a costume if they don’t want to. But that wasn’t the Joel you knew. He sucked it up every year becasue he knew how much you loved and now you weren’t worth the energy anymore.

The second warning was that he didn’t say anything when you opened the door for him. No loving hug or ‘I missed you so much!’ He just looked at your costume - Vivian Ward because you had expected him to be your Edward - gave you a half smile, said “nice,” and went to grab a beer. You had immediately turned and went into your room and cry while one of your roommates rubbed your back and tried to tell you how beautiful you looked.

But you didn’t care what anyone thought if it wasn’t Joel.

The third warning came once the party started. You kept trying to hold his arm and introduce him to some of your newer friends that he hadn’t met yet because you were proud to call him your boyfriend. You spoke so much about him, and you didn’t want to make him feel nervous about not knowing anyone, so you thought that was the right thing to do.

Some random frat boy you were introducing him to had made a comment to Joel about stocks and how his exams are going and you jumped in to save him. It was some stupid shit like, “Oh, Joel doesn't have to worry about midterms, he's actually running things up in Dallas while we're all playing student.”

You thought it was nice. It was true afterall. You had helped him get Miller Construction going and he was thriving. You wanted it to sound like he was ahead of the curve, more adult than all of these children.

You realized maybe he took it the wrong way when he grabbed your bicep tight and whipped you around to face him. His pupils used to be huge when they looked at you. Now they were just slits, like a snakes.

“You think you’re so fucking slick don’t you?” He didn’t bother lowering his voice. He was drunk enough that he thought the room was just you two. “You just love pulling my strings in front of your little rich friends, thinking it’s so funny to remind everyone that I don’t go to school. That I'm just the grease-ball you drag down here to make yourself look charitable?”

“Baby, no, that’s not what I meant -”

“Just shut up,” he said so aggressively that the girl standing next to him gasped. "You're embarrassed of me. You've been embarrassed of me since you got your acceptance letter. You just wanted to drag me down here to put on a show and remind me of my place. Well, congratulations. You made it real clear."

Your lips were parted and your eyes quickly flooded with tears, the kind that came on so violently and out of control, you couldn’t even bite your cheek to stop them. You dropped his arm and turned on your heel, running down the apartment hallway until you got to your room.

It was the second time you had cried that night, and the walls of your room felt entirely too thin as the bass from the party vibrated through the floorboards. You honestly wished that something happened to make him hate you. That would break you, but it would feel better than this mess of wondering what you did to make him hate you so much.

Maybe that’s just what happened with you. Maybe you let people get close to you and then they ran away.

Anna, one of your 4 apartment roommates snuck in maybe 5 minutes later, holding 2 red solo cups filled with vodka cranberry - your favorite. How sweet.

She put your cup on your dresser and rubbed your back while you tried to suffocate yourself in your own pillow. But when you kept breathing, you rolled over so you could look at her while she spoke.

“Honestly, babe, he’s such a caveman,”She handed you your drink. “He completely embarrassed you out there…who does he think he is? You got a book deal in college and he’s just doing jack shit at home. He’s holding you back honestly. If I were you, I would dump him.”

You took a big gulp of your drink and grimaced at the burning. Sure alcohol made you more sociable, but the process of becoming more sociable sucked. Anna stayed for a few mintes, echoing the same old, “break up with him!” and performative friend shit. “You’re too hot for him!” And whatever. But her gaze kept flickering to the door and you knew that she really didn’t want to be there. You knew her goal for tonight was to take home the guy from the crew team that she was talking to.

When her cup was empty, she stood up, patted your knee, and left another full cup on your nightstand. "Don't hide in here all night, okay? Get numb and come back out."

It was stupid advice. But, it was the only advice you had. You spent the next hour (or so) drinking your vodka cran and then you moved onto your personal bottle of titos you kept under your bed and away from your RAs. Usually Anna bought all of the alcohol for parties since she turned 21 first, but your treat for yourself when you turned 21 was your own bottle.

You spun it open and nursed…a majority of the bottle. Fuck, it must have been the equivalent of 8 shots that you drank? You drank until your brain was a heavy and spinning like a planet. You were plastered, the room tilting every time you blinked. But none of that mattered.

You wanted Joel to come through the door. You wanted him to hold you, to apologize, to tell you he loved you enough to override the anger. That’s what he always did afterall. He wasn’t a man of many words, so any time you were sad or upset, he would usually come into your room and hold you while you cried or grumbled about what he did to annoy you, and then he would apologize profusely in your ear.

So when the door opened…of course drunk you assumed it was him.

The man had the exact same stature as Joel, with big, broad shoulders that always made you feel small.

Of course when the man’s boots scraped across your floor you though it was Joel. He was the only man you would know that would wear heavy boots to a Halloween party.

"Joel..." you whimpered, your slurred voice thick with alcohol and tears as you reached your arms up in the dark. "I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

The man didn’t speak to you. Just like Joel did. God, every single day you wished up and down that the man who came into your room spoke a single world sooner, because you would recognize your Joels voice anywhere, drunk or not.

He just leaned down and grabbed your waist, pulling you up toward him. When his mouth met yours, he tasted like beer, which Joel had been drinking, and cigarette smoke, which Joel had been smoking. It was like forcing broken puzzle pieces together. It was him. He came back to fix it.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your fingers in his hair, seeking the comfort of his body to erase the horrible things he'd said in the kitchen. Something felt wrong when you realized how fast he was moving. The man didn’t touch you slowly the way Joel usually did, because he knew going too fast made you anxious. This man was rougher, pushing your skirt up around your waist without any of the foreplay Joel gave you. But, you were too drunk to question it, too desperate for the validation of his touch to notice the slight difference in the way his hands held your hips.

He unbuttoned his jeans, his heavy breathing the only sound over the distant thud of the bass in the living room. He didn't ask if you were ready. He just pinned your wrists to the mattress and penetrated you in a single, sharp motion.

A soft gasp left your lips, your head rolling back into the pillow as the reality of the weight above you started to feel heavy, almost suffocating. You shifted beneath him, your hands coming up to rest flat against his chest, trying to find the familiar rhythm of the man you loved.

"Joel..." you whispered into the dark. "Joel, slow down... please."

The man above you paused, his movements pausing for a fraction of a second as he looked down at your face. He let out an unfamiliar chuckle.

"Joel's out on the porch, babe," the man said confidently. "But you're doing just fine."

Your boyfriend had the smoothest southern drawl you had ever heard. It had this calming factor that stopped your blood from boiling. It was a voice you recognized anywhere, and that was not your boyfriend's voice.

You had never experienced such a shock that your drunkenness completely evaporated. You didn’t realized biology worked like that. But your drunken giddy worldview froze instantly - the chest under your hands wa a hockey jersey, not a flannel like Joel’s. The cigarette smell wasn’t from smoking. It was from the firepit in the student commons.

This wasn't your Joel.

Your eyes went wide in the pitch-black room, your panic locking your joints as the stranger moved inside of you, entirely oblivious to the absolute horror shattering your soul in the dark.

Not Joel. Not Joel. Not Joel.

A violent surge of adrenaline fought to break through the paralysis of the alcohol, screaming at you to push him off, to fight, to scream. You shoved your palms against his jersey, your fingers digging in as you tried to wrench your body sideways. You tried to swing at him a few times, but he pinned your arms above your head.

"Get off…Get off me - "

No matter how hard you jerked your body around him, yor limbs felt uncooperative under his weight. He didn't even seem to register your struggle. To him, your frantic pushing was probably just you getting closer and closer to an orgasm.

When your body registered that you couldn’t get him off of you, it shut down. Your throat stopped making noise. Every time you tried to draw in enough air to make a sound, the smell of his unfamiliar sweat choked you. You were completely trapped.

So, you just stopped trying.

Your arms fell limp against the sheets, your fingers curling into the fabric as you stared blindly up at the pitch-black ceiling, praying to whatever God was out there that it would be over soon. You forced your mind to leave your body and retreat deep into the quietest corner of your own head while the stranger finished.

When he finally pulled away, the only thing you processed was the mattress lifting. You heard the rustle of his clothes, the slide of his belt buckle, and then the quiet creak of your bedroom door opening and closing. So quiet, like he knew what he just did was wrong. And he did it anyway.

It took a moment for your brain to catch up with your body.

But the one consistent?

You needed Joel.

He was the only person who could wash away the touch of the stranger. If Joel was here, he would fix it. He had to. He fixed everything.

You scrambled off the bed, your knees immediately buckling as the floor tilted beneath you. You caught yourself on the edge of the nightstand, knocking the empty plastic cups to the floor. Your hands shook uncontrollably as you pulled your skirt down, your fingers fumbling with the fabric of your shirt.

This was so wrong. Everything was wrong.

You pushed the bedroom door open. The party was still raging on - of course it was. Because no one heard you silently losing autonomy of your own body in the other room.

"Joel?" you slurred, your voice cracking as you stumbled into the living room, your eyes frantically scanning the crowd. You pushed past a group of guys by the sofa. "Joel?!"

"Hey, you okay?" someone called out, but you ignored them, your boots slipping on a spilled drink as you made your way toward the back porch. You didn’t care if you made a scene. No one would remember tonight in the morning.

The porch was crowded with people smoking and talking over the music, but the corner where Joel usually stood with a cigarette was empty.

"Where's Joel?" you gasped, grabbing the arm of a guy standing near the railing. "Have you seen Joel?"

He looked down at you, raising an eyebrow at your pale, tear-streaked face and your trembling hands. "Your boyfriend? Oh, yeah. He left like 20 minutes ago, man. Grabbed his keys and walked out. Said he was driving back to Dallas."

You let go of his arm, stumbling backward against the wooden siding of the apartment.

He was gone.

–

You were on your 2nd whiskey sour when someone broke your peaceful silence.

“Hey…aren’t you y/n?”

You closed your eyes and inhaled. You hadn’t run into anyone who recigized you yet, for good or for bad. But the bad grew to outway the good reason to remember you so…it was probably the bad.

The voice came from one of the 3 women at the book near the jukebox. They looked friendly enough, and not in that sarcastic way where they just want to poke into your personal life. And they all seemed to be about your age, maybe a few years younger.

The blonde in the middle gasped and slid out of the booth to come stand next to you.

“I knew it! I remember reading some of your short stories in the paper as a kid and then I read your book once it came out! Oh my gosh, we heard you moved to Boston! What are you doing back in town?”

Maybe it was the alcohol in your system, but them not referencing the accident once warmed your heart. You hadn’t been known just for your writing for years now.

“Just taking a break,” you gave out the same lie you gave everyone. You waved the bartender for another roud. “Just doing some local consulting work. Teaching a bit. Trying to be lowkey.”

“That’s so cool,” the second girl said, joining her friend by your stool. The third fried quickly followed. “We should celebrate you being back! Drinks on my tab!”

And so, you got completely and utterly drunk.

For the next hour, your lability to lie evaporated, as it usually did when you were drunk. You were an honest drunk which was great in the moment. It always made you feel like you were meeting yoru best friends. But then the morning after you were always filled with such profound anxiety that you never wanted to show your face again.

Before you knew it, you were leaning against the bar top with tears in your eyes as you told these equally drunk girls your ecrets.

“He’s a monster! I moved across the country to get away from him, and now his kid is in my classroom. His kid! And I tried... I tried to help her because she was having a panic attack, and he ran straight to the principal today and tried to get me fucking fired.”

“Wait,” the blonde girl slurred. “What’s his name again?”

“Joel,” you grumbled back. “Who even names their kid Joel!?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” the brunette, who you think said her name is Emma held her hand up. “Joel Miller? The construction guy? Are you fuckig serious? He tried to ruin your new job after you helped his daughter!?”

“Yes!” you cried out, slamming your empty glass on the wood. “And then my boss called me a liability. She told me I was the problem. Me! All because he called her and bitched about me to protect his ego. I just…I just want to look him in the eye and tell him how much of a pathetic coward he is.”

The blonde girl (Dani?) stood up, slamming her hand down on the bar right next to yours, her face flushed with alcohol-induced solidarity.

"Oh, hell no. You are not letting him get away with that. You know where his office trailer is? It's literally 3 blocks down on the old textile mill site. My boyfriend works concrete on that crew."

“Really?” you blinked. Miller Construction had a crew now? Last time you were in Dallas it was still just Joel and Tommy.

“Yes! He's probably still there working late again. My boyfriend said he’s a total workaholic," she grabbed your bag off the hook and forced the strap over your shoulder. She hauled you up off the bar stool, steadying your swaying hips with a firm grip on your arms. "You go and bang on his trailer, girl! Show him he can't mess with your career. It's right down this street to the left - you literally can't miss it!"

“Yeah!” You cheered with drunk adrenaline. “I’m gonna tell him off!”

That was the last you remembered of that night.

–

When you woke up the next morning, it was still dark outside, so it wasn’t the light that brought you to consciousness. It was the gentle hand on your shoulder, rocking you back and forth.

You were tempted to shrug the shoulder off. Theo could let you sleep for a few more minutes - you only lived right up the street from the elementary school after all.

You grumbled and rolled over into the pillow before your brain started to wake up along with your body. Your head hurt so fucking badly that you felt each individual neuron pulsating through your skull.

Your bedroom at home was in the basement. With no windows. You had no way of telling it was light or dark out when you woke up.

The memory of storming to Joel’s trailer drunk started flickering in your mind like a faulty light bulb before finally staying on and buzzing.

You flew up right, scrambling to cover yourself with whatever was around you in case you were…well, in case you were naked. Though if you did drunkenly sleep with him you might have killed yourself in front of him.

But he wasn’t looking at you like a man who regretted the night before. He was standing there, in a black shirt with a small “Miller Construction” logo on the side, and some blue jeans. His hair was combed, but free, so his curls bounced around his head. Good to see he was finally listening to your advice - you used to tell him you hated his slicked back hair.

“Hey, hey,” he held up his hand like he was speaking to a spooked animal. “You’re fine. You’re fine. You were just drunk and it wasn’t safe for you to go home.”

You were still trying to mentally wake up and have your memory from last night connect with the present. You just stared at him, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

He glanced at how you were holding the covers over yourself.

“Relax. We didn’t do anything. I may be evil to you but I’m not a monster.”

You shakily let the covers go. You barely even felt the shirt on your skin, it was so big.

“Respectfully, I would rather get into another car accident than ever sleep with you again.”

It was mean to say, but he let out a faint snort.

“I ain’t too giddy to get in bed with you either darlin’. Was just trying to prevent you from getting hit by a car on your drunk walk home.”

You shrugged and rolled your neck.

“Could have checked off two boxes. Get into an accident inside a car and outside a car.”

He looked down when he realized he was smiling a little. You gave him a quick one up and down while he wasn’t looking. The shirt he was wearing certainly wasn’t big on him. It was fitted just enough that you could see his arms straining the sleeves, and a small tummy pushing against the edge of his jeans. He had some greys coming in his hair, just threaded throughout his curls and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was genetic or stress.

When he looked back up, there was something different on his face, something that almost resembled concern.

“Last night you, um…”

You sighed and shook your head.

“I do not need to hear a lecture about me showing up drunk at your trailer Joel.”

“No, not that,” he sputtered a little. “You…you said that you knew it was me this time. You were glad it was me.”

It took even you a moment to think about what you were talking about. You never told Joel the truth about what happened on Halloween. Your relationship was so bad at that point that your roommates told you that it would have been the final straw. Because, they pointed out, it was cheating. You cheated. And then Joel would have dumped you and you would have lost him forever.

You…you hadn’t told him about that had you? In your drunkenness? It was something that took you years to shove into a tiny glass bottle and store it away, and now you apparently decided to be vulnerable with him in a state where you couldn’t even explain.

“You said something too about Halloween before falling asleep,” Joel explained quickly. “And it’s just - do you remember what you meant?”

You lifted your hand up and rested it against your chest. Your heart was hammers through your palms and radiating out of your fingertips.

Change the conversation. Change it.

“Did you try and get me fired?”

His lips parted and his head tilted.

“Did you blackout? I already told you I didn’t.”

You motioned at how you probably looked. You didn’t need to look in a mirror to know you probably looked a mess, makeup probably smudged all over his pillows.

“I admit I called to try and move Sarah out of your class. But I never ever said that you should be fired. In fact, Karen gave me a long lecture on how you are the brightest teacher to ever walk into that building and if I want my daughter to get help for her reading, you are the only person who can help her.”

“I told you in that closet that I am qualified -”

“- I always believe my daughter first. Your qualifications mean nothing to me if my daughter is still miserable at school and crying any time I try to get her to read. But hell, when I talked to her last night, she told me that she finally understood the words because of some shavin’ cream thing you did?”

“It’s a multisensory learning strategy,” you said quietly.

“I don’t give a shit what it is. My girl is finally happy. And that’s because of you. I may not like you one bit, but I did not try and get you fired.”

He was calling a temporary ceasefire. At least, that’s what you thought it was. Maybe just a ceasefire when it came to anything revolving Sarah, which you wanted the entire time, but he was being too emotional. But fine.

He was staring at your with his big brown eyes, waiting for you to answer.

“So…”

“I was talking about 1995.”

The words slipped out of you before you could stop yourself. It was like in your brain, the only way for you to know Joel Miller was complete love or utter hate, and now that he was trying to be neutral with you, your brain was malfunctioning it’s programming.

His thick eyebrows flew up.

“1995?”

You scratched your chin and averted your eyes.

“Yeah…yeah, um, Halloween 1995. It was when we were, you know. Fighting more.”

You thought he would make a comment about your use of ‘fighting more.’ That was such a miniscule descriptor for that time in your life.

Instead, you watched the lines on his face soften in slow motion, recognition flooding his face. Like that date had significance to him too.

A pit formed in your stomach at how concerned he looked. This wasn’t what you wanted…for him to feel welcome in your life again. To feel like he could open up to you and you could open up to him, because you couldn’t.

You certainly didn’t need his pity. He had no god damn right to pity you when he was the one who left you for dead and didn’t even bother to sit by your bed while you were in a coma.

You cleared your throat and feigned shock.

“I have to get to work,” you paused before your real shock slipped in. “Wait, Sarah’s not here right? Oh my god, I can’t be seen leaving here, I can’t traumatize her -”

“- Relax. She’s at my ma’s.”

Joel’s parents were still in town? Oh you loved them so much. Your parents were very strict and traditional, and you did love them, but they weren’t loving in the way Joel’s were. They always invited you over to dinner, got you presents on holidays - hell, you had your own stocking at their house.

“Andrea still lives near here?”

He clicked his tongue and shook his head.

“Yeah, but she’s not going to see you if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I wasn’t-”

“- you really don’t understand how badly you ruined my families life right? You really just don’t get it.”

“Joel, I told you I didn’t know about the lawsuit.”

“Suits. Plural. And of course you didn’t know, because you’re sheltered. That’s why your parents didn’t tell you, wasn’t it? Because you can’t handle anything that might be difficult to hear. They wanted you to know that all of the attention was on you. That you’re the only person who was hurt because you have no sense of not being the only person in the world. I told you about the suits two days ago, and I doubt you can look me in the eyes and tell me what they sued my family for. Can you? Can you seriously tell me that yesterday before you went and got shit faced drunk, you made an effort to call your mom and ask her why she tried to sue me into homelessness?”

Your heart sunk. Because he was right. You were so blinded by the fear for your own job and your fear for Sarah’s education that you didn’t even to think to ask your brother or parents about the lawsuit. You still could barely believe that, and a part of you truly believed he was lying. Lawsuits were almost always a big deal - if there had been one, certainly you would have noticed lawyers coming in and out of the hospital? And certainly your parents would have told you. You knew your parents. They wouldn’t keep something like that from you, even if they waited until your condition was a bit better, they would have told you at some point.

If it came down to believing your parents or Joel?

Your parents came long before Joel did in your life. They got the point for knowing what you needed the best.

You blinked at him, not wanting to pick a fight this early in the morning anf especially after he let you sleep at his place rather than having you drunk walk home and end up in a bush.

“I should probably walk home to get some clothes before work. Kids are surprisingly aware when you wear the same clothes too much.”

He held his hand out confidently but then quickly dropped it like he was being shy.

“You don’t have to rush out. If you don’t want. I mean, I have some clothes that may fit you.”

You froze midway out of the bed and laughed out loud.

“Joel, I can’t wear your clothes to work!”

He flushed a deep red, like he always did when he was embarrassed. It was impossible for this man to hide his nerves, because no matter how stoic his face looked, he always looked like a tomato.

“T-that’s not what I meant,” he turned toward the closet and walked toward it. He definitely knew you could see the heat on his cheeks. You tilted your head while he rummaged through his clothes, wondering what jeans and plain shirt combo he was going to pull out.

Instead, he came outu holding a pair of black and white checkered pants and a light blue fuzzy sweater.

“This isn’t cute and teacher-y like your shirt yesterday,” he was avoiding eye contact. “But this seems colorful? Don’t teachers try to be colorful?”

You chewed on your lower lip to fight your smile, but it betrayed you, the ends of your lips still curving up.

“So many things are wrong with this. First off. You think I’m cute Miller?”

His eyes flew to yours and they were wide with panic. He turned an even darked red against his sun tanned skin.

“N-no thats not, well, no -”

You giggled at his blubbering.

“Relax, I’m fucking with you. Why do you even have womens clothes anyway?”

“They were my ex-wifes.”

The teasing smile on your face fell instantly. Sarah had mentioned it was just her dad at home, but it was just something you kept in her student file. Now that you knew she was Joel’s daughter, it had a whole different meaning.

You felt something coil inside of your throat at the fact that Joel got married. Maybe it was jealousy, not that he was with someone else, but because he got to date again. There was nothing stopping you from dating per say - you went on a couple of dates in Boston. But any time they noticed your hands shaking and you explained your condition, you never heard from them again.

Because you were too much. Your illness would always make you too much for everyone around you.

The idea of opening yourself up to someone new scared you too much anyway. You spent your formative years dating the same man who turned out to be your downfall. During all of those dates you went on you couldn’t help but ask yourself when they would do something to you. Not if, when. You were fundamentally changed 7 years ago into not trusting anybody, especially potential romantic partners.

And Joel just gets fucking married. After he told you you would be the only girl in the world he would marry. It’s not fair.

You rubbed your lip with your middle finger.

“You’re married?”

“Was,” he said nonchalantly. “We got divorced 4 years ago.”

You tried to do the math in your head without looking too obvious, but he noticed your furrowed, concentrating eyebrows immediately.

“We were together for 3 years. You’re doing that squinty thing.”

“I do not-”

“- yes, you do,” he layed the clothes on the dresser. “And it’s okay you know. Might be good for you to know about her. For Sarah and everything.”

Right. For Sarah.

“Actually, you get dressed first, and I’ll make breakfast. You still like oatmeal in the morning right? I know you don’t drink black coffee, but-”

“Black coffee’s great. Same with the oatmeal.”

He gave a small nod and headed out to the kitchen, closing the bedroom door behind him.

The fact that he remembered your favorite breakfast made you feel unnervingly warm inside. Unnervingly, because you knew that you and Joel could never truly unlearn each other with your history.

You stood up and put on Joel’s ex-wifes clothes, something you never ever expected yourself to be doing. You looked around for your purse and stuffed your skirt and top from yesterday in it. That’ll do. You could just hide it under your desk so your kids don’t ask why you have a skirt sticking out of your bag.

You used Joel’s brush to get any immediate knots out and then just threw the rest up in a bun. You paused when you realized that there was no makeup on your face at all.

That couldn’t be right. You have a staple of makeup you wear every day - mascara, eyebrow gel and pencil, concealer, and a neutral lipstick or gloss. It’s not much but it almost always mudges over your face when you accidentally sleep in it or it rains.

It did occur to you that Joel may have taken your makeup off, but that thought didn’t last very long. Knowing him, he probably just dumped you into bed to get you off his hands. You likely just forgot to put some on yesterday.

In the bathroom, there wasa boxed toothbrush sitting on the counter, so you assumed Joel left it out for you. As you brushed your teeth you noticed his mirror was slightly ajar and a rush of noseyness surged through you. You don’t know why you felt compelled to see if Joel was on any crazy medications. Maybe if he had some sort of condition like you did, you would feel less angry at him for getting out of the accident scot free.

You glanced to the door incase Joel was coming in and then you opened the mirror. There were 3 bottles inside.

80 mcg of Prozac

50 mg of Hydrochlorothiazide

2,000 mg of Gabapentin.

Now, you didn’t know what Hyrdrochlorothiazide was, but you did know what Prozac and Gabapentin were. You had tried Prozac when you were trying to figure out which anti-depressant worked for you, and Gabapentin was one of your early pain medications.

What the fuck was he taking Gabapentin for?

Your curiosity was halted by a blinding pain through your head. It was so painful that your hands fell from the mirror to the counter and you gripped so tightly you probably could have broken your fingers.

You missed your meds last night.

God, how could you be so stupid? You knew better than to let yourself miss a dose of medication. That’s why you had to stay with your brother, so he could keep an eye on all of your health issues in case you slipped up.

Did you really let Joel Miller cloud your judgement that much? Still? After all of these years?

You waited for the pain wave to pass before turning on the sink, gulping down some water and heading into the kitchen.

Joel looked up almost immediately from the stove, where he was cooking himself eggs. Your oatmeal sat steaming on the kitchen table with a side of blueberries and coffee.

“What’s the matter?” He immediately looked concerned at the sight of you.

You chewed your cheek and went to sit down. You already embarrassed yourself enough last night. You didn’t want to show anymore weakness.

“This looks good. Thank you. For all of this.”

He gave you that little head tilt he always did when he was seeing right through you. It was the same head tilt that always made you tingle a little bit, one of those minute things about him that meant everything to you.

“Are you in pain?”

“No,” you said quietly. Great, you couldn’t even pretend to lie. “A little.”

He turned the stove off and scooped his eggs on a plate before walking over to sit across from you with his coffee.

“Hangover or brain?”

You chuckled weakly and took a bite of oatmeal. He put cinnamon in it, just how you liked it.

“I don’t actually get hangovers very much. I learned that I only get them if I mix liquors, but last night was just whiskey sours. This is just because I didn’t go home last night so I didn’t take any of my evening medication.”

Joel’s face fell mid-sip of coffee.

“Oh god, m’ sorry…if I knew you had to go home I could’ve dropped you off, you were just sayin’ your brother would kill you if you showed up drunk-”

“-no, oh my god, don’t apologize. It’s not yout fault. You actually did the right thing because if Theo saw you walking me into the house drunk, he may have taken advatage of Texas’s lack of gun laws.”

Joel snorted on the other end of the table.

“I take it your brother ain’t a fan of me either? Like your parents?”

“I wouldn’t say that. I mean, he’s the one who told me to get over our…history.”

He smiled and rolled his bottom lip in slightly.

“Knew your brother was the smartest one in your family.”

“Woah, slow your roll Mister, you aren’t blameless here,” you took a sip of your own coffee. “He said that I shouldn’t blame you for not understanding that learning disabilities don’t equal being mentally broken. That everywhere today there’s people saying that kids with these conditions are just lazy and don’t want to do the work, so of course you and a majority of other people think that my saying your daughter probably has dyslexia is an insult. Theo told me to get over myself because you aren’t saying that I’m targeting your daughter because you hate me. You’re saying that because you don’t want to believe your daughter has a condition that is so misunderstood by society.”

He pursed his lips slightly like he was trying to bite back a snarky remark, but he visibly inhaled and bit his eggs.

“If you’re the best like they say you are, I am willing to listen to you and let you change my mind.”

“I’m not the best. I’m good at my job, but the best was my friend Camilla. From Boston. I was just an elementary school teacher, she was the reading interventionist,” you hadn’t spoken to Cami, but she deserved her credit. She was the reason you became so passionate about helping children with learning disabilities. “And I’m not doing it to change your mind. I’m doing it for Sarah. Changing your mind is just an effect of helping her.”

It was so quick that you could have sworn it was a dream - his eyes flickered to your lips and back up. The attention on your lips made them part, but you instantly closed them when you allowed yourself to think logically. He was probably just avoiding eye contact is all.

“M’ surprised you made friends in Boston,” he teased. “You didn’t show them your charming personality?”

You scrunched your nose up and rolled your eyes.

“And you are charming as always. You use that swagger on your ex?”

His throat bobbed prominently as he swallowed like he was trying not to choke, which made you feel a bit guilty. You and him were at a ceasefire for an hour and you already managed to mention his ex wife. Great going.

“What was her name?” you asked gently. Afterall, he had encouraged you to ask questions about her.

He brushed a stray curl out of his eye.

“Isla.”

“That’s…a really pretty name actually.”

“I know. I wanted to name Sarah somethin’ unique like that but Isla said she had a hard enough time as a kid with a different name so she wanted something more basic.”

Another wave of pain raidated through your head, and you closed your eyes until it passed. Joel must have gotten the hint to not fuss over the headaches, but you could also sense that he wanted to reach over and help. There was no way he could help, but he wanted to try.

“She’s um,” you moisented your lips and swallowed, the pain sucking all of the moisture out of your throat. “She’s not in Sarah’s life? She had mentioned to me on the first day that it’s just you and her.”

He stood up at that and your face fell and the thought that you insulted him in some way. But when you watched him walk over to the sink to fill a glass of water, you realize he had noticed your throat was dry. He noticed.

He noticed. And why did something so miniscule make you feel so much?

“She was around. Last year I got a letter from her saying that she had filed all of the documents to give up custody of Sarah.”

You flew your hand to your mouth to stifle your gasp - what monster gives up custody on a little girl as sweet as Sarah Miller?

“Joel-”

“-a truth for a truth,” he handed you the water. “I told you about my wife. Now you can tell me what you meant about Halloween.”

God fucking damn it.

He knew everything. This is why you couldn’t be civil with him. Because he never forgot anything that made you upset, and once he knew that something was wrong, he made it his lifes goal to fix it.

“That’s not how this works.”

“Ah, I see you’re still in the habit of thinking you make the rules.”

“What rules? We’re eating breakfast.”

“Oh don’t be naive,” he groaned. “You always loved to pretend that whatever you decided about the world was how it’s gonna go. You wanted to write your story as literary fiction when you sold it as a romance. So you wrote a lit fic. You wanted me to make Miller Conracting branding orange? We made it orange.”

Your eyes dramatically fell to the Miller Construction Label on his shirt.

That was orange.

“Well…was I wrong?”

He frowned in a way that resembled a sad puppy.

“That was a bad example. You know what I mean. You’re a control freak.”

It was something that he probably would have said to offend you if he didn’t know you. But you knew Joel Miller. You knew he could say a lot meaner.

You ignored the swipe and took an exaggerated scoop of your oatmeal. This morning felt more normal than any day of your life in the last 7 years - you didn’t want to ruin that, even if it meant being normal with the person you hated more than anyone in the entire world.

But maybe telling him will take some of that guilt off your chest. Ever since Halloween, you blamed yourself for the downfall of your relationship with him, and, in correlation, the accident. If he hadn’t grown to resent you, he wouldn’t have picked a fight that night, and you wouldn’t have gotten distracted in the car.

“That Halloween I was referencing…it was right after you snapped at me for “trying to embarrass you or whatever,” you shook your head. “I went to my room and cried. And cried, and cried, and cried. Remember Anna? My roommate that year?”

Joel nodded slowly.

“She followed me into the room and kept telling me to drink it off. Brought me a whole drink and told me if I got drunk I would forget about it and enjoy my night. And I was so naive that I…I listened to her. I drank straight from the bottle in my room for an hour, and when I finally was drunk enough to forget, someone walked into the room.”

You saw the muscles in Joels arms flex, veins popping slightly. His jaw made a horrible shrieking sound from how hard it was pressed together.

“Ah!” The sound startled you so bad you jerked back, your chair scraping. “Joel what the fuck was that?!”

His face was scruched up in pain.

Look at the two of you. Both in excruciating pain. Lovely.

“That would be my jaw.”

“Well you should probably get that looked at, because I don’t think your body is supposed to make sounds like a fork against a plate.”

He chuckled sarcastically and rubbed his jaw.

“It is when my jaw is made out of titanium.”

You froze, your spoon hovering halfway to your mouth as his words hung in the air.

Titanium.

Like the metal? He has a metal jaw?

Now that he mentioned it, your eyes picked up on the slight asymmetry of his jawline that you had failed to notice in your own resentment of him. His stubble covered it well, but now that you were really looking you could see the faint surgical scar tucked just under the curve of his chin.

He leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee before letting out a bitter huff.

"Oh, what," he grunted, his tone now oddly reminiscent of when he would get backed into a corner and defensive. "You didn't even bother to think if I had any injuries from the accident?"

You felt your face flush with embarrassment. Your immediate instinct was to snap right back, to throw your hands up and remind him who was the one in a fucking coma.

"I-I, no - Joel, that's not true," you stammered. You didn’t sound confident at all.

Because... it was true. It kind of was.

For 7 long years, your entire universe had revolved around your own body. Your memory loss, your hand tremors, the endless physical therapy, the medical bills, and the fucking resentment of believing Joel had walked away from that crushed truck without a scratch. You had built an entire monument out of your own suffering, convinced you were the sole victim of the accident. It had literally never crossed your mind to ask if he had been hurt. You never had the chance to, because he never came back after that night.

He never made an effort to see if you were okay, so you never made an effort to see if he was okay.

Joel saw the realization wash over your face, but he didn’t gloat. He just looked sad. He gulped down the rest of his coffee and stood up.

"Right," he muttered. He glanced over at your plate, seeing you had finished the last bite of your cinnamon oatmeal. "Well. I gotta get to the construction site early. Need to meet the inspector before the rest of the crew gets there. Let me get you some advil before we leave."

He walked back into his room and rummaged around for a bit before coming back holding 2 advils. You took them with a weak smile and took them with the last of your coffee.

He grabbed his truck keys off the counter and looked back at you.

"If you're good to wait with me there for a bit, I can drive you straight to the elementary school after," he offered, the hurt slowly leaving his voice. "Beats walking, though I guess you seem to like doing that."

"Um... sure. What else am I gonna do?"

His house was too far from the school to walk. You literally were gridlocked.

Whatever bantered was happening between the two of you died out in the car. Neither of you spoke to each other, the radio playing faintly throughout the car.

The strum of an electric guitar through the radio made you lock up.

Joel’s head turned toward you at your obvious movement after several minutes of driving in silence. But you were too focused on the memory your brain was showing in front of you.

The wheels catching on a puddle.

I never wanted to be your weekend lover.

Losing control over the wheel no matter how hard you turned it the other way, just like you were taught.

I only wanted to be some kind of friend.

The car catching on a ditch and flying through the air while you and Joel screamed.

It’s such a shame our friendship had to end.

The feeling of your body being catapulted through the hard glass of the wind shield.

“Hey!”

You blinked a few times before turning your head. The car wasn’t moving anymore, and what was once your favorite song was no loger playing.

There was something warm on your cheek, and it took you a moment to process that it was Joel’s hand, and not the blood on your face from the windsheld tearing your cheek open.

His thumb was gently swiping under your eye.

“You were crying.”

You sat frozen in the passenger seat, just letting yourself feel his thumb wip about the tear falling down your cheek. Knowing that he was finally here, that he finally came back, made your chest feel warm. In its place, you were wrapped in a gooey, terrifyingly comfortable sensation. A comfort that your soul hadn't felt in seven long years. It felt like home. It felt like Joel.

Reality rushed back in through your lungs.

He is not nice to you.

This wasn't the man who loved you; this was the man who had called your boss, who resented your very existence, who blamed your family for his idiocracy.

As if suddenly realizing what he was doing - realizing he was touching the woman he was supposed to hate - Joel’s hand twitched. His eyes widened slightly in shock, and he dropped his arm. The sudden loss of his touch left your skin feeling frigid, like it did in the rain that night.

He cleared his throat, pulling his chin back into his collar and leaning his head toward the driver's side window.

"Don't like Prince anymore?" he teased, attempting to sound lighthearted.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, staring straight ahead at the dashboard.

"No," you muttered. "Just... that song."

Because Purple Rain was the last thing you heard before your life was ruined. It was the background track to the moment your life ended and your coma began.

Joel went completely silent. He didn't make another joke. He didn't offer a snide remark. He just shifted the truck back into drive and pulled onto the main road toward the construction site.

Joel drove with one hand on the top of the steering wheel, his eyes fixed on the empty morning road. His truck smelled like saw dust. He must have been driving lumbar around in here.

"Listen," Joel cleared his throat. He didn't turn his head to look at you, keeping his gaze locked on the traffic light. "You can say no. In fact, I fully expect you to say no."

“What?”

He exhaled, his fingers tapping against the leather steering wheel.

"I was thinkin'... would you be willing to tutor Sarah? With her reading? I would pay you. Whatever your hourly rate is, I'll match it. Cash, under the table, whatever you want."

You stared at the profile of his face, the hesitation creeping into your limbs like a sudden frost.

"Joel... I don't know if that's a good idea. Given... everything."

"Please," he finally turned his head to look at you. His dark brown eyes were wide, completely stripped of any ego. "Please. We called a ceasefire for her, right?"

He leaned his forearm against the wheel as the light turned green, accelerating slowly down the road toward the rising sun.

"I don't have the money to get her a formal diagnosis. The private specialists up in Austin want thousands just for the evaluation. The school district's waitlist is 6 months long, and Karen... Karen isn't gonna push it through any faster. I can't afford to wait 6 months while my little girl cries every time she opens a book. You're the only person who's ever made her feel like she isn't stupid. This would be her best bet. You're her best bet."

You sat in silence for a long moment, watching the trees pass by outside the window. You hated him for the past. You hated him for leaving you. But as you thought about Sarah you knew there was only one answer you could give.

You let out defeated sigh, rolling your neck as you turned back to him.

"Fine," you whispered. "I'll tutor her."

A wave of relief washed over Joel's face. The tight lines around his eyes melted away as he smiled.

"Thank you. Thank you, darlin'."

ongoing